


The moment I realized...

by Randomwordsonpaper



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5+1 Things, Because Speedy's deserves some love, Canon Divergence - The Empty Hearse, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Hurt John Watson, Hurt Sherlock Holmes, Idiots in Love, Insecure Sherlock Holmes, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious John Watson, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Set in Speedy's café, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27828100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomwordsonpaper/pseuds/Randomwordsonpaper
Summary: When John decides to take residence at 221b Baker Street, he is happy. But after a couple of months, some of Sherlock's habits are starting to annoy him. He wants to confront his flatmate about it, but he isn't sure how well he is going to take it. Deciding that talking about their feelings is already hard enough as it is, John asks Sherlock to meet him down at Speedy's café so the discussion can't escalate. It turns out to work pretty well for both of them, and so a new tradition is born.ORFive times where Sherlock and John needed the neutral ground of Speedy's Café to clear the air between them, and one time where they came to the place for other purposes.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 32
Kudos: 73





	1. I could be friends with you

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, and welcome to my new side-project! When I heard that Speedy's was for sale a couple of months ago, I decided it was time to honor the small café at Baker Street. And so, a new idea was born! 
> 
> I'm writing it as we speak, so it's a WIP for now. I already wrote the first two chapters and i'm aiming on uploading once a week! 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy, and please let me know if you do! <3

**The moment I realized… I could be friends with you**

  
He was sitting by himself in the far corner of the café, sipping his coffee. He hadn’t been here before, which was odd, because he had moved into the apartment above almost two weeks ago. He knew his new flatmate did come here now and then, but he just hadn’t thought of going down to get a cup of coffee instead of drinking it in the apartment. 

He made an effort to look like he was simply drinking his coffee, enjoying the quiet Speedy’s had to offer around this time of day. He had thought about grabbing a newspaper as well but decided against it. Instead, he was just taking in his surroundings, looking at the people who were sitting there as well. But every now and then, he let his eyes linger on the entrance of the café. He took another sip of his coffee, realized it was his last one, put the cup back on the table and shoved it aside. When a long, slender, dark-haired figure entered the café, he sat up a little straighter and swallowed. 

Because in reality, John Watson felt nervous. 

“John,” Sherlock greeted when he sat down opposite him. John nodded in return and glanced at the man before returning his gaze on his, now empty, coffee cup.

He began to wonder if this was such a good idea. He had been living at 221b for twelve days now and every day, started to feel like home a bit more. He even was beginning to get used to living with another human being again, or more specific, to living with Sherlock. It was easy where John hadn’t expected it to be. They knew what the other needed without asking, had so many things to talk about that they frequently let their tea grow cold, and simply could enjoy each other’s silent company in the evenings. John found Sherlock’s experiments interesting, his deductions fascinating, and his violin playing beautiful. He had absolutely nothing to complain about. 

Except that he had. 

Yes, Sherlock’s violin play was often beautiful, but sometimes, it wasn’t. Sometimes it sounded like  _ dying goats.  _ There was no other way to describe it. Especially when Sherlock was frustrated or angry, he liked to abuse his violin. And even that would be okay with John, but not in the middle of the  _ bloody _ night.

And yes, Sherlock’s deductions were fascinating, brilliant even. Except when Sherlock deduced things about John himself. He could handle the fact that he couldn’t keep it hidden when he had met a woman during groceries, or that he had to share his laptop because Sherlock kept deducing the password. But some things just were private, thank you very much. 

And then, there were the experiments. Which were interesting, and most of the time, John could handle the strange smells or the smoke when yet  _ another _ thing burned. But those experiments came with some very strange, even shady supplies. In two weeks, John had found maggots in the sugar jar, a bottle of something that smelled like vomit between the cleaning supplies under the sink, and a jar of rabbit turds between the pasta and the rice. And that all would be something John could live with, but when he opened the fridge yesterday, there was a severed head. Next to his dinner. A  _ severed head.  _

It had been the final straw. John could handle a lot, but he was a man who needed sleep at a decent hour, who wanted to have a bit of privacy and who wanted to eat his dinner without the thought of a severed head in the fridge. He had tried to bring this up multiple times over the last couple of days, but every time Sherlock had been distracted, occupied, or in his mind-palace. Which was why he had invited Sherlock for a cup of coffee at Speedy’s; so he could explain why they needed some ground rules and have the detective’s full attention when he did. 

John’s attention snapped back to the matter at hand when a young waitress came by their table. “What can I get you?” 

“Just a black coffee,” Sherlock answered in his low baritone. 

The girl turned to John. “Do you want a refill?” 

“Yes, please.”

“You do know that we own coffee ourselves as well, right?” Sherlock began with a smirk on his face when the waitress was gone. John could tell that Sherlock was in a good mood today, which was a relief. “There’s no need to invite me down here while we could’ve had a decent cup in the comfort of our apartment.” The detective continued and scanned the room. “But I do have to admit; it’s a nice change of view.” 

“Sherlock, there are some things I would like to discuss.” 

"Obviously. You asked me to meet you in a public place; something you usually won't do, at a time you know would assure a crowd. You are uncomfortable bringing up the matter at hand in the intimacy of our apartment." 

For a second, John was impressed by the deduction Sherlock made. He wanted to praise it but realized that this was exactly the reason why they were sitting here. He took a deep breath and continued. “I’ve given it some thought over the last few days, and I think we need to talk about our cohabitation.” 

Sherlock's smile faltered. “Oh.” 

John didn’t fail to notice the sudden change in Sherlock’s body language. The man had tensed up and closed himself off in a matter of seconds. He almost felt guilty for bringing it up, but he knew he had to say something. Inhaling deeply, John braced himself and began. “I find it hard adjusting to some of your habits. I thought I could put up with it, but it turns out I find it’s more challenging than I thought. I was wondering if-“

“You want out.” 

John blinked in confusion. “What?” 

“You don’t want to live with me. There are too many of my habits that are annoying to you, and you’ve been letting me know; every time I do something that you don’t like, you set your jaw. You’ve reached your limit days ago and have been meaning to talk to me about it, but you couldn’t bring yourself up to it. Hence why you were agitated for most of the time these last few days.” Sherlock deduced, but he didn’t sound as triumphant as he usually did. 

“What?” John asked in confusion. “That’s not what I—” 

He was interrupted by the waitress. After she put down the two cups of coffee, she asked John and Sherlock if they would like something to eat. She clearly didn’t have the talent to sense what kind of conversation her customers were having, because she needed to be told twice that they didn’t want to order any food. 

When she finally left, John tried to continue the conversation. “I’m sorry Sherlock, I think you’re drawing the wrong—” 

“You don’t need to make excuses, John.” Sherlock paused briefly and swallowed, his eyes fixed on the cup of coffee in his hands. “You are not the first one who makes it clear that I’m not an easy man to have around; people have told me on multiple occasions. I have to say; I’m not even surprised. It always goes like this, and it was naïve of me to think that it would be different this time. So thank you, John, for these past eleven days and for having the decency to let me—” 

“Stop it.” John interrupted, unable to listen to Sherlock’s assumptions any longer. “I don’t want to move out!” he practically yelled and instantly regretted it. He didn’t want to give Sherlock the impression that he was angry with him, but the whole situation was getting ridiculous. “Where did you get that idea in the first place?” John asked after a moment in a much gentler tone. 

Sherlock hesitated for a moment. “I thought you were starting to share their opinion about me,” he eventually mumbled. 

John swallowed. He didn’t like where this conversation was going. He could see it made Sherlock uncomfortable, and he didn’t want him to be. “Who’s opinion?” 

“Anderson’s. Donovan’s. I saw you talking to them the other day; I’m sure you’ve heard by now.” 

“Heard what, exactly?” 

“The nickname that the fine officers of the Met gave me, John.”

John looked at the detective in confusion and tried to think what Sherlock could possibly mean. It was clearly something that hurt him, that much was obvious, but John couldn’t think of a nickname he had heard when he visited at New Scotland Yard the other day.

But suddenly, he did remember. It was something sergeant Donovan had called Sherlock the first time he met her. 

_ A freak. _

“Oh, Sherlock. You’re not.” John exclaimed. He reached out across the table to take Sherlock’s arm, ignoring the spark he felt when he did. “Let me get one thing perfectly clear. You are not a freak. I don’t know who made you believe you were, but that person should get his ass kicked so hard that he shouldn’t be able to walk for days. Hell, if I ever have the good fortune to meet him slash her, they would be in big trouble.

Sherlock huffed in disbelief. “You almost make it sound like you’re my friend.” 

John couldn’t do anything but to blink for several seconds before he realized that Sherlock actually didn’t believe him, which was insane. Sure, Sherlock did have some quirks, but who didn’t? That wasn’t a reason to not have any friends, at least not for John. And even worse, he almost made it sound as if he didn’t feel worthy of John’s friendship, which was utterly ridiculous. Because Sherlock was by far the most brilliant person, John had met since he came back from Afghanistan. 

“That’s because I am, you idiot,” John said fondly. But when Sherlock didn’t answer, he began to wonder if he had come to the wrong conclusion. “At least I could be. If you want to,” he added hesitantly. 

For the first time during the conversation, Sherlock looked straight into John’s eyes, and John tried to ignore the warm feeling he got when he did. “I would like that very much,” Sherlock eventually said softly. 

John swore he could see a blush on Sherlock’s cheeks and couldn’t help it but tot smile. “Good, that’s good. But Sherlock?”

“Yes, John?

“No more torturing the violin at three in the morning.”

“Fine.” 

“And try to keep the deductions about my private life to a minimum, please. I’ll tell you eventually.” 

“I’ll do my best.” 

“And could you keep the severed head somewhere else than next to my dinner?” 

A small smile tugged at the corners of Sherlock’s mouth. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” 

“Git,” John laughed, and he was happy to see Sherlock was laughing as well. 

  
  



	2. I would protect you

**The moment I realized… I would protect you**

He sat in his usual spot at the table just behind the counter, with his back against it. Usually, he would sit on the other side of the table so he could overlook the café, but this time he didn’t. This time, he didn’t want to be seen, didn’t want to be found by anyone, and especially not by his flatmate. He knew it would only be a matter of time before Mrs. Hudson would betray him and tell John where to find him, but the longer he had, the better. 

Because Sherlock Holmes felt anxious, frustrated and angry. 

Two and a half weeks ago, he and John had met Moriarty in the pool and had come incredibly close to being killed. It wasn’t as much of a first for Sherlock, and he knew John had faced death as well, but it was the first time that John had been in the middle of it all. And even though Sherlock found it hard to accept, that small fact had messed with him more than he liked. 

The first few days that John was away, Sherlock had been busy trying to discover everything there was to know about Moriarty, which wasn’t much. On the third day, he even asked Mycroft if he could get more information on the criminal mastermind as a last resort. Sherlock had to make sure he kept his mind occupied so it couldn’t slip into the depths of his mind palace because he feared that if he did, the recent event would affect him. But when Mycroft called with the disappointing news that there wasn’t much information he could give his little brother, Sherlock threw in the towel in frustration. He had yelled at John that he was afraid that for the first time in his career, there was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. But in the emptiness of the flat, it became painfully evident to Sherlock that John wasn’t there. 

Without the distraction he could give his himself, it was only a matter of time, and on the fifth day of John’s holiday, Sherlock’s mind began to spin with the impact of it all. He played the scene over and over again in his mind palace; John entering the pool with the bomb vest on, the brief moment of panic when it looked like John was Moriarty, the appearance of the little red dot right across John’s heart. That particular moment stayed lingering in his mind palace for a long time, and Sherlock couldn’t figure out why. After hours of pondering on that moment, the scene continued; the conversation he had with Moriarty, handing him the USB stick in the hope it would get them out of this situation. John, who took his chance and grabbed the man to save Sherlock’s live was another memory that took a long time to process and somewhere along the way, he started to notice a pattern. 

And after that came the image of horrid realization on John’s face when he saw the little red dot of the second sniper appear on Sherlock's forehead. That was the moment for Sherlock where he had realized that was it. It was game over. He wouldn’t be able to save himself, to save his friend. He had failed to protect him. 

And yet, miraculously, they had survived.

The next day, John had informed Sherlock he thought would be a good idea to deal with the aftermath by going on a holiday. To the other side of the world to visit an old friend, together with Sarah. He had booked two tickets and had packed his bags before Sherlock could convince him not to go. He still tried, though, which had let to a heated argument where John eventually had forbidden Sherlock to reach out to him for work. 

Sherlock, for once, had respected that. But it didn’t do him any good. By the time John’s holiday was over, he had thought of every possible scenario that could happen to the doctor. So when John texted him a couple of hours ago with the message that his plane had landed and he would be back at the flat, Sherlock felt relief. But shortly after that, he felt angry. Because how could John be so incredibly stupid? How could he go on a holiday while he was a target of a criminal mastermind? And how could he have left Sherlock alone and let him deal with this situation by himself? 

By the time John would arrive at Baker Street, Sherlock had himself so worked up, he decided to leave the flat to calm down a bit, which was why he was sitting at Speedy’s for the last couple of hours. 

When he heard the bell rang and someone entered the café, Sherlock knew John had found him. “Here you are!” the doctor exclaimed when he approached Sherlock. He didn’t wait for an invitation and sat down opposite the detective. “You know, it would’ve been nice to come home to some company, instead of an empty flat.” 

Sherlock didn’t respond and avoided John’s gaze. He was fighting the urge to look up into the doctor’s ocean blue eyes because he knew if he did, his anger would subside. Instead, he decided on fixing his gaze on the woman behind John. 

“So, why are you here instead of upstairs? Got a case going on?” John tried, and Sherlock knew it was an attempt to get a reaction from him, but Sherlock didn’t give him the satisfaction. 

“Sherlock? Can you at least acknowledge that I’m back?” 

There was a pleading edge to John's tone, which caught Sherlock’s attention, and his curiosity won. He glanced at the man opposite him and actively tried to ignore the faint stutter he felt in his chest when their eyes met. “Why would I?” Sherlock spat. 

John raised his eyebrows. “Because I just came back from a two-week holiday? Don’t tell me you didn’t notice I was gone.”

“Oh, believe me. I noticed.” 

“Jesus Sherlock, what got your knickers in a twist?” 

Sherlock sighed. He knew he had to tell John what was going on in his head eventually, might as well do it while he still felt angry about it to get it off his chest. “You went away.” 

“Yes?” 

“To the other side of the world. For two weeks. With your latest fling.” Sherlock hissed through gritted teeth. 

John huffed out a laugh. “You can’t be serious, right?” he asked in disbelief, but when he saw Sherlock’s stern look, his grin subsided. “Sherlock, Sarah and I dated for four months; I would hardly call that a… Hold on. Are you jealous? Is that what this is all about?” 

“Don’t be an idiot, John. I won't lower myself to such a basic emotion. You are completely missing the point.” 

“Enlighten me, then! Not everyone here has the brains of a genius, you know.” 

Sherlock scoffed. “Even you should be able to figure this out, but I can see the holiday didn’t do anything beneficial for your deductive skills” he snarled. John opened his mouth to argue, but Sherlock spoke before he got the chance. “You should’ve asked me if it was okay to go on a holiday, instead of rushing off with the GP.” 

“What?!” John exclaimed, his voice raised. “You seriously think I should’ve asked for your permission?” 

“I do. If you had run it by me, it would’ve told you it wouldn’t be smart for you to-” 

“We are not a couple, Sherlock!”

The words rang in the air long after John had yelled them through Speedy’s, and for the first time in this conversation, Sherlock didn’t know what to reply. He looked directly at John for the first time and their eyes locked. He tried again and opened his mouth to say something, but the words just didn’t come. 

His mind tried to wrap around the words he had just heard. Something about them seemed odd, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. Obviously, Sherlock knew he and John weren’t a couple. He had heard John explain to people over and over again that he wasn’t gay - something Sherlock doubted was entirely the truth, but he had decided that, for once, it would be in everyone’s best interest not to mention it. Because even if John wouldn’t be completely straight, even if he did experiment when he was at university, and even if he was able to fall for a man before during his tour in Afghanistan… It did not mean he would ever consider Sherlock as a potential love interest. Sherlock knew that. Besides, it wasn’t about that. It was about John who was stupid enough to go to the other side of the world with a renowned criminal mastermind on the loose, and the fact that he failed to see why going on a holiday wasn’t the best idea he had. Or at least, that was what Sherlock kept telling himself. 

But in reality, Sherlock Holmes was starting to fall for John Watson. Hard. He just didn’t want to admit it, not to John, and not to himself. 

“Sherlock?” 

The sound of John’s voice was enough to stop Sherlock’s train of thoughts and get him back to the issue at hand. “That’s not what this is about,” He finally answered, his voice softer and more vulnerable than he liked, and for a moment, he thought he had betrayed himself. 

“What is it, then?” John urged, his anger subsided. 

Sherlock sighed. He knew he had to explain it to John eventually, and that he couldn’t keep the actual reason behind it from him. “Moriarty is out there, and we both know he’s after us. Not me, us.” Sherlock felt his anger spike again. “Did you really think he wouldn’t follow you in New Zealand if he had known you were there? That he didn’t have people there who could track you down, or who couldn’t kill you on behalf of him?” 

“I… uhm… I hadn’t thought of that.” 

John’s eyes roamed across Sherlock’s face, and Sherlock knew he didn’t have to say anything else. He knew John was able to read him when no one else could; it had been like that from the beginning, and this situation was no exception. He would be able to see the struggle Sherlock had in the last few weeks with finding anything on Moriarty, the worry he had experienced that came with it, and above all, he would see the fear that was there for the first time in God knows how long. 

Sherlock had tried to push it away; to not give in to it, but it was a facade he was holding up, and he knew John would look right through that. He would see that Sherlock was actually terrified of Moriarty because even with every resource available and with every bit of determination the detective had, he wouldn’t be able to predict Moriarty’s next move. And that therefore, he wouldn’t be able to protect himself, nor John. 

John’s look became soft. “You wanted to protect me,” he said, his voice calm.

Sherlock didn’t answer and looked down. After a moment, he gave a single nod.

“Sherlock,” John started in his sweetest, most gentle tone that made Sherlock shiver. “As much as that touches me, you know you don’t have to, right? I am competent to protect myself. I am a soldier; protecting civilians is what we do.”

“I know that, John,” Sherlock answered slightly frustrated. “It’s not that I want to protect you; I need to.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could rethink them, and Sherlock knew he had said too much. He had shown John his true feelings, feelings he didn’t have the chance to examine himself.

“You care about me.”

The statement made Sherlock look up, and he was surprised to see that John’s expression wasn’t one filled with disapproval or envy, but with warmth and affection. There was something the detective couldn’t quite place, too. He felt his cheeks redden slightly under John’s gaze, but even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to look away. 

“I’m sorry,” John spoke eventually and let go of Sherlock’s gaze. “I shouldn’t have gone on holiday, and I shouldn’t have left you on your own to deal with the aftermath.” He cleared his throat and shifted his seat slightly. “For what it’s worth, though, I didn’t particularly enjoy my trip.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at that and was about to ask what John meant when something clicked. _Sarah and I dated for five months._ “You and Sarah broke up,” Sherlock deduced.

“We did.”

“I’m… Sorry?”

John huffed out a laugh. “Don’t be. I broke up with her. Although I have to admit, being on vacation with your ex-girlfriend isn’t something I would recommend.”

“Why?”

“Well, let’s just say she wasn’t exactly happy with the situation and said some things I wouldn’t want to repeat in public.”

“That’s not what I meant, John,” Sherlock replied impatiently. “Why did you broke up with her?”

John gave the man opposite a lop-sided smile. “Can’t you deduce it?”

Sherlock knew he probably could, but he didn’t know If he wanted to. In the last couple of months, John had proven to be a contradiction, a mystery, a puzzle. Almost every time Sherlock had made a deduction about John’s personal life, John was able to surprise him. And normally, that would intrigue the detective. But now, for some reason, he didn’t dare. Because if he did, he would conclude that John had broken up with Sarah because of him. And that would be a ridiculous conclusion, because Sherlock knew if he answered that, John would tell him that _he was not gay._

And suddenly, Sherlock realized that that was it. That was what was wrong about the statement John had given him earlier. He hadn’t told Sherlock he wasn’t gay; he had told him they were not a couple, which was odd because John wasn’t the type of man who didn’t consider his words, not when he was making something obvious. And when you’ve eliminated the impossible whatever remained, however improbable, must be the truth, so… Could it be that John had thought what it would be like if he and Sherlock were together, and that it didn’t put him off?

Before Sherlock could speak, someone interrupted him. “Can I get you two anything? A refill, something to eat?”

“Oh, uhm,” John stammered, slightly taken aback by the arrival of the waitress. “I don’t think we—”

“Could we see the menu, Rachel?”

“Of course!” the waitress answered. She took a few steps towards the counter, grabbed two menus of it, walked back to the table and handed Sherlock the menus. “There you go. Just let me know when you made a decision!”

John took one of the menu’s Sherlock offered him. “You want to eat?” He asked, his eyebrows raised.

“No, but you do.”

“How did you know?”

“Please, you just came back from a twenty-eight-hour flight and you are used to a whole different time zone,” Sherlock answered. “Plus, I can hear your stomach growling.”

“Git,” John answered fondly and opened the menu. He looked at it for a minute. “You sure you don’t want anything?”

“I ate two days ago,” Sherlock shrugged.

“Yeah, that won’t do. You need to eat.” John laughed at Sherlock’s scrunched-up nose. “You know what, I’ll order something we both like. That way you can steal a bite or two.” And while John waved the waitress towards him and ordered, Sherlock tried to hide the blush that was starting to creep up his cheeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I've been walking around with it in my head for a long time now, so to know that you guys are liking it means a lot to me!


	3. I should hate you

**The moment I realized… I should hate you**

He hadn’t been here in two years, not since the death of his best friend. The place reminded him too much of the cups of coffee they had drunk, all the meals they had eaten together and of the conversations they had had, Even the smallest memory hurt of the man hurt like hell, and after months of grief, he learned that he couldn’t torture himself like that. Sherlock Holmes was dead, and he had the right to try and continue with his life. At least, that was what John believed for the past two years.

Nothing could be further from the truth. 

A shiver ran across John’s spine at the thought of the previous night. He couldn’t recall much anymore; everything seemed to be a blur. One moment, he was about to propose to his girlfriend, and the next he was looking in the icy-blue eyes of his former best friend. He remembered how he got up and how he heard the blood rushing in his ears. The words Sherlock spoke were utterly lost on him as he tried to fight the urge to hurt the man, to be the bigger man. But in the end, his anger had won. Not once, not twice, but trice.

But when John had come home and finally allowed himself to calm down a bit, he realized that Sherlock once again had managed to infiltrate his life. Of course, he still felt furious, hurt and upset, but another emotion came at the surface as well: curiosity. He wanted an explanation, wanted to know how and why he faked his own death, wanted to know why the detective had been away for two years, and above all, wanted to make sure he was going to stay. John needed him to stay.

Because he knew he wouldn’t survive another goodbye.

So here he was, after more than two years, at a table in the middle of the café. He sat with his face towards the door, his body tensed, jaw set, his look stern, and waited for the detective to arrive. John had to admit, he hadn’t expected that Sherlock would agree to his invitation, but apparently, the man had learned a thing or two during his time away and knew that he owed John at least this much.

When Sherlock entered Speedy’s café, John noticed he didn’t look like the confident, arrogant man he pretended to be yesterday. Sherlock’s shoulders were bent forward; his head hung low. John almost felt sorry for the man, but the bruise that had formed across Sherlock’s face reminded him of the events from the previous night.

“How’s your nose?” John asked when Sherlock sat down opposite him.

“It’s fine; you didn’t break it.”

“I know I didn’t.”

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched. “Seems like you still care about me.”

John knew what Sherlock was referring to, but didn’t reply. He knew what Sherlock was trying to do; he was trying to lighten up the situation with humour, just like the night before. But this time, John was prepared and didn’t fall for it. He just looked at Sherlock with his arms folded across his chest and waited for him to realize they were going to have a serious, adult, conversation.

After seconds, Sherlock seemed to give up the façade and sighed. “I thought you wouldn’t want to see me again, not after last night.”

“I didn’t,” John answered coldly and saw Sherlock flinch at the words. “But I’m willing to try one more time. I think you owe me an explanation. But I’m warning you, Sherlock; I think I’m still able to tell whether or not you tell me the truth. If you don’t, I’ll walk out of here, and that’s it.”

Sherlock struggled for a moment, and John wondered if it was because he didn’t want to tell John the truth, or if he couldn’t. Eventually, the detective seemed to decide that it would be best to come clean and gave John a firm nod. “Ask.”

John inhaled deeply and braced himself. “Okay. I’ll start with an easy one. How long beforehand did you plan it?”

“I don’t see why you wo—”

“How long,” John interrupted trough gritted teeth before Sherlock could wave his question away. “beforehand did you know what you were going to do to me?”

Sherlock swallowed. “Four days.”

“Four days,” John repeated and clenched his fist under the table in an attempt to control his anger. “And you told Molly, Mycroft and people of your homeless network.”

“Yes.”

“Did it ever occur to you to include me in your plan as well?”

“Of course,” Sherlock immediately answered. The man looked up at John with big, pleading eyes. “Believe me when I say that leaving you behind was the last thing I intended to do. But when Moriarty’s plan became visible, I knew I had no other choice.”

The look on Sherlock’s face almost made John feel a little guilty about his harsh approach, but he did his best not to dwell on it. This wasn’t about being careful with Sherlock’s emotions or making things right between them. This was about confiscating the truth, nothing less, and definitely nothing more.

John decided to go in a different direction. “Where have you been for the past two years?” 

“Tunisia, Beirut, Mexico, Russia and Serbia. That’s where Mycroft found me.”

“Why?” 

“I tried to dismantle Moriarty’s network.”

“Did you succeed?”

Sherlock hesitated for a moment. “Almost,” he answered and looked down at his hands, clearly disappointed in himself.

This spiked John’s anger again, because not only did it mean that the last two years had been for nothing, but also that there was still a threat. He ran his hands across his face in frustration. “Do you have any idea,” he began, his voice low and threatening. “What I’ve been through these last two years? How much it hurt me? How much it had cost me?”

Sherlock closed his eyes. “Believe me, I know.”

“Do you?!” John suddenly yelled, unable to control his anger any longer. “I don’t think so. Because if you knew, you would’ve let me know that you were alive!”

“I couldn’t.”

“That is bullshit!”

Sherlock looked up from his hands. “It really isn’t, John.”

“Then give me one good reason why you couldn’t!”

It was silent for a long moment. John could see Sherlock struggle with his words, opening and closing his mouth for a couple of times. When he finally spoke, his voice wasn’t much more than a whisper. “Because he was going to kill you.”

“What?”

“Moriarty was going to kill Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and you. He had a sniper directed on you, and he would pull the trigger If they didn’t see that you were convinced of my death. That’s why I couldn’t tell you. It had to be real for you.”

The truth felt like a punch in the gut, like a hit in his chest. The words didn’t make sense. In the last two years, every scenario had crossed John’s mind. But in the end, he always assumed that Sherlock had killed himself – or faked his death – for selfish purposes, not to save others.

Not to save John.

“John, are you okay?”

But John didn’t respond; he couldn’t. His throat felt dry, and his heart was hammering in his chest. He opened his mouth to give a reply, but nothing came. All he could do was look at Sherlock with panic in his eyes, hoping the detective would notice what was going on.

Sherlock did. He reacted immediately, stood up from his chair and grabbed John by his arms to lift him up. “Come on; you need some air. Outside, now.”

The detective guided John through the door at the back of the café. He led him through the kitchen, opened the backdoor and gently pushed him outside. There, he took hold of John’s arms and firmly pressed him against the brick wall. “John,” Sherlock said in a calm but firm voice. “You’re starting to have a panic attack, and I need you to take a deep breath for me.”

John didn’t listen. He was fighting a battle with his own emotions and was losing it. He couldn’t deal with them; he wanted to run, to escape, to hide. Tearing himself from Sherlock’s grip, John let out a growl and swung his fist.

But unlike yesterday, Sherlock anticipated the hit. He caught John’s hands in his and took them in his. John tried to fight him, tried to break free out of the detective's firm grip, but the detective just held him. That was when John couldn’t control himself together anymore. He felt every emotion rushing through his body; anger, pain, confusion, betrayal, heartache. They all came to the surface at the same time, and he couldn’t fight it. He couldn’t fight him, not anymore. 

“I should hate you,” John murmured, his voice strangled, putting all his effort in not breaking down completely in front of his former best friend. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought the tears that were threatening to spill. “But I… I just can’t. The last two years were exhausting, grieving you, letting you go… but hating you was the most exhausting, and I don’t want to do it anymore.”

And that was it. He grabbed Sherlock’s hands as tightly as he could, unwilling to let go of the man ever again. The little tug on his hands was all it took for John let himself go. He let his head fall against Sherlock’s chest, and for the first time, he allowed himself to lower the walls he kept around himself for two years.

They stood there for several minutes, John slumped against Sherlock’s chest with his own chest heaving and tears flowing freely, and Sherlock with John’s hands in his, patiently waiting for the doctor to calm down.

When John finally had his emotions under control a little, he tried to speak again. “You know,” he started, his voice hoarse. “At one point, I thought people were going to be right about us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought that maybe, one day, we would become more than friends,” John answered, and couldn’t withhold a hint of a smile. “But that was all in my head, wasn’t it?”

Sherlock swallowed, and John could feel him tense. “John, I—” the detective started, but the words got stuck in his throat.

“Please tell me it was all in my head.”

When Sherlock didn’t respond, John pushed himself from the man’s chest and looked up. He didn’t expect to see such a tormented, sorrowful look on Sherlock’s face. For the first time during this encounter, John realized that it would be possible he wasn’t the only one who was in pain.

“Sherlock.”

Sherlock closed his eyes tightly at the sudden tenderness with John was speaking. “I can’t tell you that,” he confessed eventually.

The silence hung between them, both men unable to find the right words. John had expected himself to panic, but the opposite was true. He almost felt serene, because he knew all along that his feelings weren’t something he had made up as a way to cope with his loss.

They were true.

A shiver ran across his back when John looked in Sherlock’s eyes, steel-blue meeting stormy blue directly for the first time in two years. For a moment, John couldn’t fight his instincts. Trying to ignore the stammering of his heart against his chest, John lowered their arms but didn’t let go of their hands. He shifted a little bit closer, allowing Sherlock to do the same. The taller man let out a shaky breath and let his gaze lower on John’s lips. They inched even closer, their noses almost touching.

It was only when they nearly closed the small gap between them that John realized that this was wrong.

“I can’t do this.”

“I know,” Sherlock whispered, his breath tickling John’s skin. 

John swallowed. “Not now.”

“I know.”

“I’m with Mary.”

A sigh escaped from Sherlock’s lips. “I know.”

John was the first one who broke the spell between them and stepped back a little, knowing that if he didn’t, he would make a mistake. He tried to compose himself as he straightened into military position, steadying himself.

“John, I’m—” Sherlock started uncharacteristically soft, but John knew what was coming and interrupted him.

“Please don’t.”

Sherlock looked up at the sudden fierceness of John’s voice. “Okay,” he answered eventually and let go of John’s hands.

John immediately regretted the loss of Sherlock’s warm hands but fought the urge to reach out and grab them again. He cleared his throat instead. “I should go.” 

But before John could walk away, Sherlock spoke again. “Is there any chance that you will forgive me?”

This took John by surprise. Not only because he didn’t expect the question, but also because he no longer felt the anger that was usually reserved for he thought about forgiving Sherlock. “I think I already did,” he answered and gave the detective a small, tentative smile. “But it’s a lot, and you’ve got to give me some space to sort all of this out. So please, Sherlock, don’t reach out to me. I promise I will contact you when I can, but please, don’t push me. Not now.”

For a second, John thought Sherlock was going to argue with him, but he only gave a small nod as an answer.

“Thank you.” With that, John turned around and walked away as he tried to ignore the feeling that he was leaving his friend behind.

But then again, Sherlock had done the same thing two years ago. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the response! It means the world to me to know you are liking it so far! <3


	4. I could never say goodbye to you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait, whut? An update? Yes, indeed! 
> 
> You wouldn't believe the struggle I had with this chapter... It nearly made me want to give up the fic, but the lovely Ohlooktheresabee helped me through it! And low and behold, after months, it's finally there! 
> 
> And what a chapter this is... ENJOY!

**  
The moment I realized… I could never say goodbye to you  
  
**

  
He sat at the only table near the window, his face directed towards it. Usually, he wouldn’t choose a spot where he was visible from outside, but he knew every seat in the café by heart. If you looked straight through the window of the small café, you would be able to see him sitting there, but people rarely did. They were just passing by; most of them in a hurry to get home from work, some of them on their way to an appointment, almost all of them lost in their own thoughts. They were a welcome distraction for him, something to keep his mind occupied. 

When he woke up this morning, he could no longer ignore the unsettled, heavy feeling that had lingered around him for a while now. He had tried many things to get rid of it; he went for several long walks, he did multiple experiments, he even spent half a day online to research yet another new technique to fold napkins. But like the sword of Damocles, the feeling kept hanging above his head for days, waiting to crash down - to strike at the most inconvenient moment, which happened to be today.

Because today was the day that Sherlock had planned to throw John’s bachelor party. 

He knew he was supposed to be happy for John; it was his job as best man. But deep down, Sherlock knew he couldn’t be truly happy with the fact that his best friend was getting married in two weeks. He desperately had tried to support the wedding, to warm up to the idea of having Mary as John’s wife, to be the friend John wanted him to be. He had thrown himself into the wedding preparations - not because he took the role of best man so seriously, but because it seemed like an excellent way to cope with the situation. 

But in the end, he just couldn’t be the bigger man. That bigger man would stand by his best friend’s side, would let him have the wedding he deserved. But Sherlock couldn’t do that. If he did, it meant he had to let John go… In more ways than one. 

And that was something Sherlock wasn’t ready to do. 

As for tonight, Sherlock had to hold his head up high, being the perfect host for John’s bachelor party. He wanted John to have this, one final night, as a “free” man. Nothing fancy; just drinking some beers in a local pub, enjoying the excellent company of friends and not having to be home at a specific time. It sounded dull to Sherlock’s ears at first, but he had to admit that even he was looking forward to tonight as well. One final night with his best friend, for the sake of old times. He just had to make sure that he could handle it without blabbering a love confession to said best friend in a nearly-drunken state. And in order to do that, he needed to clear his mind, put on the façade he had created the last few months and bury his present feelings and thoughts somewhere deep inside his mind palace. Luckily, he still had a little over two hours before he and the others would meet John at-

Sherlock suddenly froze as he saw a familiar figure through the window of Speedy’s. For a second, Sherlock hoped John would walk past the café, walk up the stairs at 221B, notice that Sherlock wasn’t there and go home for a couple of hours, but that wasn’t the case. John walked past the window, stopped, walked back to stare right into Sherlock’s eyes, raised his eyebrows and entered the café. 

“Hey,” John greeted with a small, almost shy smile and sat down. “Uhm… things weren’t that busy anymore at the clinic, so I was able to get off early. I hope that’s okay?”

Sherlock blinked a couple of times before he could respond. This was in no way convenient. He was nowhere near ready to face John and slide into the role of best man; he needed more time to collect himself. But when John looked at him questioningly, Sherlock knew he had to put on his game face and pretend that everything was okay. “Of course,” he replied and sat up a bit straighter.

“Are you alright? You look a bit stressed.” 

Of course, John would notice something was wrong in mere seconds; he always had been the only one who could read Sherlock like an open book. Choosing to ignore the doctor in front of him, Sherlock cleared his throat and continued. “You actually might come in handy. I wanted to make some decisions on some last-minute wedding issues, and your input is appreciated.” 

“Oh uhm,” John spoke hesitantly. “I think Mary would be more of a help than I am.” 

“Well, Mary isn’t here now, is she? You are,” Sherlock snapped, immediately regretting his harsh tone when he saw John flinch a little. He was grateful for Rachel, who showed up at that exact moment. 

“Hi, John,” the waitress greeted enthusiastically. “Are you almost ready for your big day? I finally heard that I could get the evening off, so I will attend the party! Thanks again for the invitation, it was very thoughtful of you. Now, what can I get you?” 

“Oh uhm, that’s great, Rachel. Sherlock will put you on the list. And a beer, please,” John answered and shifted a little in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable. 

Sherlock didn’t fail to notice John’s lack of enthusiasm, which surprised him a bit. John had always liked the regular waitress of Speedy’s, and it was his own idea to invite her, not Sherlock’s. He decided to let it pass and took out his phone, hoping that John had forgotten his little outburst by now. “First of all: flowers. I talked to the florist, and she told me that she was able to get lilacs, but the gardenia is a spring flower. She recommends switching to bouvardias.”

“I honestly don’t know anything about flowers, Sherlock.”

“I know, that’s why I already agreed with her. I just wanted to keep you updated,” Sherlock answered without looking up from his screen, his thumbs moving swiftly. “There, confirmed. Bouvardias instead of gardenias. Now, have you heard anything from your old commanding officer yet?” 

“Major Sholto? I haven’t. And stop calling him my old commanding officer; that implies I have a new one.”

“You told me you would check with him. Call him and ask.”

“Sherlock, that’s-”

Sherlock looked up sharply and rolled his eyes before John could continue his sentence, clearly knowing what John was implying. “Please.” 

“That’s not what I- oh never mind,” John muttered before looking up at Rachel, who put down a pint on the table. “Thanks.” He reached for the glass and took a big gulp. 

“Charming,” Sherlock commented without looking up from his screen. “Now, final subject: ties.”

“What about them?” 

“I really think you should change the colour. I know Mary wants to match us with the bridesmaids, but light-yellow really isn’t your colour; it clashes with your skin tone. I hate to suggest it because the colour is a violation of one’s eye, but I think lavender would be a better choice.” 

John put down his glass, closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. This had been a discussion from the moment they decided on the colours, and Sherlock knew that John wouldn’t be happy with going tie-shopping again, so he braced himself for what was about to come. When John opened his eyes, though, he didn’t expect the slightly sad but fond look in his eyes. 

“Listen, Sherlock,” John started, his voice so uncharacteristically soft that Sherlock instantly knew something serious was going on. “I didn’t come down here early because the clinic wasn’t busy anymore; I’ve got something to tell you. So stop with the wedding-planning and just listen for a second, okay? And please, put your phone away. It’s important.” 

The touch of John’s hand against his was so soft and brief, but Sherlock could feel John’s fingers burning against his skin long after the doctor withdrew his hand. Sherlock didn’t react - at least, not with words. But the sudden panic he started to feel inside was hard to contain. He knew this was it; John was going to tell him that they could no longer be friends, or at least, not like this. That his life was about to change and that Sherlock would no longer fit in it. That it had been a good time, but that-

“It’s over.” 

John’s words were barely audible, but to Sherlock, they sounded like a scream. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. Even though he knew this moment was coming, he wasn’t prepared for the impact of those two little words. He looked at John, who was still speaking, but all he could hear was the high-pitched tone that overtook his hearing. He tried to focus on John’s lips, and when the tone finally subsided, he managed to catch the last bit of the sentence.

“... the wedding.” 

“What?” 

“There won’t be a wedding on the 11 th .” 

Sherlock blinked and tried to process what John was saying but couldn’t understand. “You want to postpone it?” 

“No, we decided to cancel,” John answered, a hint of a smile audible in his voice. But when he looked at Sherlock and noticed the shell-shocked look on his face, his tone grew more serious. “Mary and I broke up. We’re done. Now, before you say anything, I want you to know that this isn’t a bad thing. Or at least, it doesn’t have to be.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything. He didn’t dare to; he was fighting not to make assumptions in his mind that he knew would be wrong anyway. But it seemed like a lost cause because already he imagined hearing a slightly hopeful tone in John’s voice directed at him, where he knew there could only be because John was trying to stay strong. 

“What happened?” Sherlock eventually asked when he noticed John was waiting for him to say something. There was a slight tremble in his voice, and he knew John could hear it as well, but he couldn’t hide it. There was too much going on, and he could feel his facade breaking from the inside, threatening to break the mask he had built in front of John. 

“I leave it to you to deduce that."

Sherlock shook his head and looked down at the table. “No, that’s… It’s obviously none of my business. I don’t need to-” 

“It’s okay; I want you to.”

There it was again, the brief touch of John’s fingers on the back of his hand that made this whole situation so much harder to process. He simply couldn’t wrap his mind around what was going on. There were too many details that didn’t line up, too many blanks that he couldn’t fill. He couldn’t think clearly like this, not with his own sentiment threatening to take the upper hand. Maybe John was right; perhaps deducing the situation was what he needed to get a clearer view on all this.

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly and inhaled, pushing his thoughts and feelings aside to make way for a more scientific approach. “You and Mary decided to break off the engagement several days ago; that much is obvious. You normally text me multiple times a day, but I haven’t heard much from you in the past few days. You aren’t that upset, which means you were the one to initiate the break-up. I don’t smell any traces of Claire de Lune on you, so Mary has left the house instead of sending you away,” he fired away in full deduction-mode, only pausing briefly before concluding. “The big question is: why? Why would she let you stay, even though you were the one you wanted to cancel the wedding?” 

“Why indeed? Go on, you’re spot on,” John urged, and Sherlock was unable to fight the warmth that spread to his cheeks. He always had a soft spot for John’s compliments and praise, and John knew perfectly well what those words did to him. It almost felt like cruelty, hearing John’s encouraging words when Sherlock was already about to break. But Sherlock’s curiosity took the upper hand, wanting to know what had happened instead of protecting himself from deducing too much.   
  
“You didn’t have a big fight, and she didn’t cheat on you; you would’ve been more upset. The logical conclusion would be that you are the one who cheated. But I know you; you wouldn’t do that to her.” Sherlock’s voice became intense as if he was trying to convince John that he knew John would never do something like that. It didn’t matter how hard he tried; he didn’t have his emotions under control anymore. He knew that he had to continue if he wanted to have at least a chance to get out of this without John noticing any of his sentiment. “I also know you wouldn’t leave her if you thought there was a way to solve things; you would make an effort. That’s not the case here; I can tell from your body language that it’s a done deal, indicating a third party involved. It’s not a casual lover or someone you just met - as I said, you wouldn’t do that.”

Sherlock swallowed as a new deduction came to mind. “It must be someone who Mary knows as well; she wouldn’t let you stay in the apartment if she didn’t see it coming.” He felt a shiver run across his spine. He was starting to enter dangerous territory, and he knew it; his mind was mixing the facts he could read with the things he wanted to be true. He desperately wished for John to tell him he was wrong, that he had to think in a different direction, but the doctor stayed quiet. “You’re willing to risk your future on this person, so it must be someone you care about. Someone near to your heart. Someone…

The words got stuck in Sherlock’s throat just in time. He desperately searched for a different angle, for someone who could fit the description as well, but he couldn’t think straight anymore. He could only draw one conclusion, but he was sure it was the wrong one, and it almost had slipped from his lips.

“Amazing,” John said fondly. “You know there’s only one thing left to deduce, right?” 

“I won’t.”

It took John several seconds before he responded. “Why not?”

Sherlock’s eyes dropped to his hands on the table in defeat. He wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer. “I just can’t.”

“You can, and I want you to know,” John urged, his voice so calm and kind that it set Sherlock on edge. “You have a right to know. So go on, you were doing great.” 

“No.” 

“Sherlock, it’s-” 

“Don’t!” Sherlock suddenly spat, unable to keep his emotions under control any longer. “Don’t tell me it’s okay, because it’s not, John; don’t you understand?! I can only draw one conclusion, but what if it’s just the thing I want to hear instead of the truth? I can’t figure out if I’m reading things right or if my mind is betraying me, and I absolutely don’t want to be wrong. I’m sure that if I am, I will lose you!” 

John shook his head firmly. “You won’t.” 

“I will. You’ll see. Maybe not today, maybe not right now, but eventually, there won’t be room for me in your life anymore.”

“Oh, Sherlock…”

“Please, John, just… Stop,” Sherlock mumbled, no longer able to fight it. He could feel he was about to break, and he wasn’t allowing himself to do so in the middle of Speedy’s, and definitely not with John in his presence. “Stop being kind to me; stop looking at me like that. It’s the way of things; I always knew it would happen eventually. I’ll be fine, I was fine without you before, and I’ll be fine without you again. Just go.”

With his last words lingering in the air, Sherlock screwed his eyes shut. When he heard the scraping of John’s chair on the floor, he knew John had finally given up and got up to leave Sherlock alone in the café. He could feel John standing next to him for a final moment before he would walk away.

But he never did.

Instead, John knelt beside Sherlock and put a warm, comforting hand on his upper arm. John could feel Sherlock tense, but he didn’t withdraw his hand. “It’s you,” he whispered. 

“I… what?”

“You’re the person I’m in love with.”

Sherlock shook his head, fiercely. “Tha- that’s not…” he tried, but the words didn’t come out. “It can’t be…”

“It is, though.” John took Sherlock’s hand. “Look at me, Sherlock. If you look at me, you’ll know it’s true.” 

Something in John’s voice was convincing enough to find the courage to do so. When their eyes locked, he felt a rush of emotion through his body. John looked at him with such a fond, loving look in his eyes that Sherlock knew he was telling the truth.

It really was him. 

And suddenly, everything came crashing down on Sherlock, his mind rushing to keep up with everything that just had happened and what everything meant. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he had to do something, had to say something, but all he could do was to stare at John and blink. He desperately wanted to tell John he felt the same about him, but he simply couldn’t find the words. The only thing he could think of was to take hold of John’s hand as hard as he could to let him know he had heard him and that he reciprocated the feeling. He just hoped that it would be enough for John to understand.

“You don’t have to say it; I know. I know you feel the same,” John spoke softly, exactly knowing what Sherlock was trying to tell him. He reached, cupped Sherlock’s cheek and smiled tenderly. “You’ve been trying to convince yourself you could be okay with this, that your own happiness was less important than mine. I know you’ve been trying so hard to be the bigger man here, and I’m sorry for not noticing what it did to you sooner. But you don’t have to do that anymore. You can let go now.” 

A shuddering breath left Sherlock’s lips and gave into John’s touch. He could feel how everything started to lighten a bit; all the stress, the burden, and the hidden feelings were beginning to make room for something new. Sure, there was still a lot to figure out, but the knowledge of having John staying by his side - and not even as a friend, but as something more - was such a relief. 

After staying like that for a long moment and giving Sherlock the time he needed to get himself back together, John finally broke the silence. “Listen, I know it’s a lot for you to process right now. I already had a couple of days to wrap my mind around it, and I’d like to give you the same. Take as long as you need. If it’s a day, it’s a day; if you need a few weeks, that’s fine too. I’m not going anywhere.” With a gentle squeeze of his hand, John decided to break the spell and got up

A small smile appeared on Sherlock’s face when he suddenly realised something. “I believe I need to call Lestrade to cancel a bachelor party.” 

“Let me; I think I owe him an explanation, as well. “What, you thought I didn’t know?” John chuckled. “Please - you aren’t that subtle.” 

Sherlock huffed. “Molly?” 

“Mrs Hudson. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make a call.” 

John turned around on his feet and walked to the door to get outside, but he changed his mind. “Screw that,” he mumbled before he turned back towards Sherlock, walking back in a few firm steps. 

Before Sherlock could register what was happening, he felt John’s steady hand on the back of his neck. He only had a second to close his eyes before he felt it; John’s lips against his. The first brush was incredibly soft, but as soon as John knew Sherlock wouldn’t withdraw, he deepened the kiss. Sherlock’s hand came up to cup John’s cheek, letting the sensations wash over him, allowing himself to feel.

“Yeah, listen,” John whispered when he finally broke the kiss and backed away just enough to speak. “It’s not going to take you weeks, is it?” 

Sherlock smiled against John’s lips. “No, I don’t think so.” 

“Good, because I don’t think I could wait that long,” John replied before he leaned in to kiss Sherlock again.

  
  



End file.
